I Am Not Who I Used to Be. And I Rather Like Who I'm Becoming.

On family, love, sex, solitude, boundaries, and the lovely freedom of changing your mind.

I've been thinking a lot lately.

About family. Relationships. Being alone. Sex. Travel. Love. The world we live in, how much it has changed, and how much I have changed right along with it.

And I keep coming back to one thought:

I am not the same woman I was two years ago. Much less five, ten, fifteen, or twenty years ago. And thank goodness for that.

Of course, there are parts of me that haven't changed. I still love learning new things. I love writing, exercising, discovering ways to make healthy eating easier, and finding something interesting that makes me question what I thought I knew yesterday.

But isn't that the point of learning?

If we are genuinely learning, shouldn't some of what we discover change the way we think, the choices we make, and perhaps even the people we become?

I certainly hope so.

Because at 56, I'm discovering that some of life's most important lessons don't come from the things we get right. They come from looking honestly at the things we got wrong, the things we tolerated, and the things we once believed we couldn't live without.

And sometimes, they come from realizing that we can love people deeply, respect their choices, and still choose a different path for ourselves.

The Families We Come From and the Lessons We Carry Forward

I come from a long line of strong women.

Women who worked hard, survived difficult circumstances, raised families, and kept going when life wasn't particularly gentle with them.

I've always admired that strength. But as I've gotten older, I've also realized that strength can take many forms, and that the examples we grow up watching aren't necessarily the ones we have to follow.

We can appreciate the sacrifices of the generations before us while recognizing that some things deserve to be done differently.

And that has made me think about the example I've set for my own children.

Was I always the mother who demonstrated exactly what a healthy relationship should look like?

Certainly not.

I made mistakes. I stayed in situations longer than I should have. I sometimes accepted treatment that I would never want either of my children to accept for themselves.

And while I can't change those chapters, I can acknowledge them.

I can also recognize that I eventually made different choices.

I left relationships that weren't healthy for me. I learned to recognize what I was willing to accept and, perhaps more importantly, what I wasn't.

And I hope that somewhere along the way, even through my mistakes, I helped my children understand that being loved should never require accepting disrespect.

I hope they learned that changing your mind isn't weakness, that starting over isn't failure, and that loving someone doesn't mean sacrificing yourself to keep them.

Because sometimes, leaving is the lesson.

And sometimes the greatest example we can set isn't that we always got things right.

It's that we were willing to learn when we didn't.

Loving Your Family Doesn't Mean You Have to Make All the Same Choices

Family relationships are complicated. Sometimes terribly so.

And I think one of the more difficult parts of growing older is recognizing that people we love deeply can make decisions we don't understand, agree with, or necessarily want to participate in.

Sometimes those decisions hurt.

Sometimes they leave us feeling disappointed, overlooked, or less important than we had hoped.

And sometimes, even when everyone involved believes they are doing what is right, there simply isn't a solution that makes everyone happy.

I've experienced some of that in my own family recently, particularly surrounding holiday traditions with my parents.

Without getting into the details, circumstances have changed, and some of our traditional family gatherings no longer feel quite as comfortable for me as they once did.

For a while, I struggled with that.

I wanted things to be different. I wanted everyone to understand my perspective. And perhaps, if I'm being completely candid, I wanted the people I love to make the choices I would have made if our roles were reversed.

But eventually, I realized something.

Just as I want the freedom to make decisions about my own life, I have to allow the people I love that same freedom, even when their decisions disappoint me.

They don't have to agree with me.

And I don't have to agree with them.

I can respect their decisions without making those decisions my own.

So rather than continuing to revisit something that wasn't going to change, I decided to change what I could.

My own plans.

I can spend holidays differently. I can create new traditions, enjoy new experiences, and spend time with the people I love on other days throughout the year.

And surprisingly, once I stopped wishing things were different, I found an enormous amount of peace in accepting them as they are.

I still love my parents.

I know they love me.

And I don't believe that love requires us to agree about everything or spend every holiday around the same table.

Sometimes loving people means allowing them to make their choices while giving yourself permission to make yours.

No ongoing arguments. No need to convince anyone that my perspective is the correct one.

Just the understanding that we are all adults, doing our best to navigate relationships that aren't always simple.

And perhaps one of the loveliest things about growing older is realizing that boundaries don't have to be punishments.

They can simply be a peaceful acknowledgment that we are allowed to live differently.

Even from the people we love.

The Man Who Taught Me What Comfort in Love Could Feel Like

There is someone I will probably always miss.

And I think I've finally reached a place where I can say that without feeling it means I haven't moved on.

For the better part of a couple of years, I shared my life with a man I loved very deeply.

We lived together, laughed together, had an enormous amount of fun together, and shared a level of emotional and physical intimacy unlike anything I had experienced before.

It wasn't perfect. Not even close.

But much more often than not, there was a gentle comfort and peace between us that I had never known with another man.

He remains the only person I've ever been with who made me feel that I could be almost as completely myself in his presence as I am when I'm alone.

And for me, that is saying something.

Because I really, really like being alone.

I loved that feeling of being entirely myself with someone else. Of not needing to perform, impress, entertain, or edit the person I was.

I loved the laughter, the affection, the playfulness, the tenderness, and the freedom of being so comfortable with another human being.

But ultimately, he wasn't going to choose the same future I wanted.

And eventually, I had to accept that all the beautiful things we shared were not enough to make the relationship what I needed it to be.

That was hard.

Really hard.

But I've learned something important from loving him.

The fact that someone isn't right for your future doesn't mean the love you shared wasn't real.

And just because a relationship ends doesn't mean you have to erase the good parts to justify leaving.

I can miss him. I can remember him with tenderness. I can be grateful for what we shared.

And I can still know that I made the right decision.

In fact, that relationship taught me something I hope to experience again someday.

I now know that it's possible to feel completely at ease with another person. To love someone deeply while still feeling free to be yourself.

And if I ever fall in love again, that's a feeling I hope to find.

Only next time, I want it with someone who is also certain he wants to stay.

Because I don't want to spend the rest of my life convincing someone to choose me.

I want to be loved by someone who wouldn't dream of making me wonder.

And Since We're Being Honest, Let's Talk About Sex

Well, why not? We're adults. 😉

I've been thinking about sex and intimacy lately, too, particularly as I watch the way relationships are discussed and portrayed in the world around us.

And I have a few thoughts.

First, I will freely admit that if flirting were an academic discipline, I probably earned a graduate degree in it years ago.

I love playful banter. I love chemistry. I love the fun of being attracted to someone who is equally attracted to you.

And I've never been a woman who was particularly uncomfortable with her sexuality.

But here's something I've learned.

Getting a man to want to have sex with you is not a particularly impressive accomplishment.

At least, not to me.

Getting a man to genuinely enjoy your company, to look forward to seeing you, to want to know what you're thinking, to laugh with you, and to spend time with you again and again and again, even when sex isn't on the table?

Now that is something worth paying attention to.

And I think it's something women, particularly younger women, deserve to hear more often.

There can be so much pressure to be desirable, exciting, sexy, adventurous, and available.

And don't misunderstand me. I think being a passionate, playful, adventurous lover is a wonderful thing.

But I no longer believe that demonstrating those qualities early in a relationship is necessary to keep someone's attention.

Quite the opposite, actually.

I want someone to fall in love with spending time with me long before he knows what I'm like in bed.

I want him to love my sense of humor, my curiosity, my independence, my opinions, my silly side, and even the occasional moments when I'm not particularly easy.

I want him to want another dinner, another walk, another conversation.

And another.

And another.

For months, if that's what feels right.

Not because sex is shameful. It most certainly isn't.

And not because waiting guarantees someone will love you. It doesn't.

But because I've learned that, for me, sex is most meaningful when it grows out of a relationship that already feels safe, loving, and deeply connected.

I think of it a little like baking a cake.

I want to take my time making the cake before I even start thinking about the icing.

And trust me, I happen to think icing is a very important part of a good cake. 😂

But it shouldn't have to hold the entire thing together.

There is something extraordinary about intimacy between two people who genuinely love one another. People who trust each other enough to be vulnerable, share their desires, laugh at themselves, and explore the private world they create together.

That is the kind of intimacy I want.

And here's another truth.

I've had plenty of sex in my life. I know myself. I know I'm a passionate, generous, enthusiastic lover.

I don't need to prove any of that to someone to convince him I'm worth loving.

Those are lovely parts of who I am, but they are not the price of admission to my life.

If another man eventually shares that kind of closeness with me, I hope he'll feel that he's found something pretty special.

And I hope I feel exactly the same way about him.

Until then?

I'm perfectly happy keeping the icing recipe to myself. 😉

The Unexpected Joy of Being Alone

Two or three years ago, if someone had told me I would spend the next two years single, I would have thought they were crazy.

Not because I couldn't physically be alone.

But because, for much of my adult life, I associated having a romantic partner with being wanted, loved, and somehow validated.

Even when the relationship wasn't particularly healthy.

Even when I knew deep down that the person wasn't giving me what I needed.

Sometimes, simply having someone who appeared to love me felt better than having no one at all.

That's not an easy thing to admit.

But it's true.

And somewhere along the way, that changed.

I stopped needing someone else's attention to feel good about myself.

I stopped thinking that an evening alone was an evening missing something.

I stopped assuming that being single meant I should be actively trying to become unsingle.

And I discovered something rather wonderful.

I genuinely love my own company.

I love my quiet evenings at home. I love cooking for myself, reading, writing, going for walks, learning new things, and doing whatever sounds lovely to me at the moment.

I love that my home is peaceful.

I love that my time belongs to me.

I love that I can make plans without negotiating them.

And I love that I can change those plans without disappointing anyone.

Of course, I would welcome a wonderful man into my life.

Someone kind, funny, affectionate, emotionally available, curious about the world, and genuinely interested in building a life together.

But I am not searching for someone to rescue me from being alone.

There is nothing I need rescuing from.

My life is already full.

And whoever eventually shares it with me will need to make it even lovelier, not simply make it less solitary.

Apparently, My Holidays Now Come With a Passport

And this brings me to travel.

Oh, how I love to travel.

Over the past two years, I've traveled more than I ever imagined I would, and not just quick weekend getaways.

Real travel.

The kind where you settle into a new city, wander unfamiliar streets, discover little cafés, learn a bit of history, and spend enough time somewhere to feel, if only briefly, like you belong there.

And much of it I've done alone.

What a gift that has been.

I've learned that I can navigate unfamiliar places, solve problems, change plans, enjoy beautiful meals, visit museums, and experience extraordinary things without needing someone beside me to validate the experience.

Would some of those moments be lovely to share with a romantic partner?

Absolutely.

But they are still lovely when I experience them alone.

And now, with Thanksgiving approaching, I'll be spending the holiday in Portugal.

Then, just a few weeks later, I'll be in Madrid for Christmas.

There was a time when I might have felt guilty about spending the holidays away from family.

Not anymore.

I adore my children. I adore my granddaughter beyond anything words can adequately describe. And I cherish every opportunity I get to spend time with them.

But I also recognize that they have their own lives, their own families, and their own traditions to create.

And that's exactly as it should be.

My granddaughter doesn't need every Christmas memory to include Honey.

She needs to grow up surrounded by people who love her, secure in knowing that her Honey is one of them, whether we're in the same room on Christmas morning or not.

And perhaps someday she'll look back at the adventures I've taken and realize that becoming a mother or grandmother doesn't mean a woman has to stop becoming herself.

I hope she learns that you can love your family fiercely and still have dreams that belong entirely to you.

That you can celebrate the people you love without needing to be present for every celebration.

And that making room for other people's traditions doesn't mean giving up the opportunity to create your own.

I hope she never feels guilty about pursuing a life that brings her joy.

Because if there is one thing I would love to pass along to her, it's this:

You don't have to choose between loving your family and loving your own life. There is room for both.

You Are Allowed to Change Your Mind About Your Own Life

This may be the biggest lesson of all.

You are allowed to change.

You are allowed to look back at something you once accepted and decide you would never accept it again.

You are allowed to recognize that someone you love has hurt you and still choose to love them, just with different boundaries.

You are allowed to acknowledge that your parents were imperfect, that you were an imperfect parent, and that your children will undoubtedly make mistakes of their own.

You are allowed to enjoy sex and also decide that you want to approach intimacy differently than you did in the past.

You are allowed to miss someone while knowing they are best left in your past.

You are allowed to want a partner and still love being single.

You are allowed to create new holiday traditions, even when they look nothing like the traditions you grew up with.

And you are allowed to stop explaining every decision to people who may never understand it.

One thing I've come to believe very strongly is that we teach people what we are willing to accept.

Not because we are responsible for the poor choices other people make. We aren't.

But because we do have a say in whether we continue participating in relationships and situations that repeatedly hurt us.

We cannot always control how other people treat us.

We can, however, decide what we will do when their treatment of us isn't acceptable.

And sometimes that means walking away.

Sometimes it means staying, but with boundaries.

Sometimes it means forgiving someone without inviting them back into your life.

And sometimes it means realizing that a change in plans might actually open the door to something wonderful you hadn't considered before.

There is no shame in choosing differently once you know better.

I think the greater tragedy would be learning something important about yourself and then refusing to let that knowledge change your life.

Still Learning. Still Growing. Still Believing in Fairy Tales.

I am 56 years old.

I have survived things I once couldn't have imagined surviving.

I have loved people who didn't love me the way I needed to be loved.

I have made mistakes, stayed too long, left when it hurt, changed my mind, disappointed people, and occasionally disappointed myself.

I've also raised two wonderful children, become Honey to the most extraordinary little girl, built a career, created a peaceful home, traveled to beautiful places, and discovered a version of myself I genuinely enjoy spending time with.

I am far from perfect.

And I am no longer particularly interested in pretending otherwise.

What I am interested in is continuing to learn.

Continuing to grow.

Continuing to become a woman whose decisions reflect what she has learned, rather than simply repeating what she has always done.

I still believe in love.

I still believe in romance, passion, tenderness, laughter, and the possibility of finding someone who feels like home.

I still believe in fairy tales, although these days my version looks a little different.

My fairy tale doesn't require someone to come along and make my life complete.

My life is already complete.

What a lovely thing it would be to find someone who wants to share it.

Someone who chooses me as naturally and consistently as I choose him.

Someone with whom I can be just as comfortable as I am when I'm alone.

And if that person never comes along?

Well, I have a pretty wonderful life planned anyway.

There are countries I haven't visited, books I haven't read, recipes I haven't tried, stories I haven't written, and so many memories waiting to be made.

There is a little girl who calls me Honey and an entire lifetime of love I hope to share with her.

There are beautiful things ahead that I cannot possibly imagine yet.

And there is something incredibly freeing about realizing that I don't have to know exactly what comes next to be excited about it.

We can do hard things.

In fact, I think some of life's most important lessons are waiting on the other side of the things we're afraid to do.

Leaving. Letting go. Saying no. Being alone. Starting over. Changing our minds. Choosing a different path.

None of those things is necessarily easy.

But goodness, how much we can grow when we stop running from them.

So here I am.

A little older. A little wiser. Still imperfect. Still curious. Still occasionally ridiculous.

Still believing that life has some lovely surprises waiting for me.

And perhaps most importantly, no longer waiting for someone else to arrive before I allow myself to enjoy them.

I am not who I used to be.

And I rather like who I'm becoming.

With love,

🍯Honey 🐝

Still learning. Still growing. Still enjoying the joy—and even the pain—that comes with living a full, imperfect, beautiful life.